All the World's a Stage
by shades of scarlet and gold
Summary: 'Have I played my part well? Then applaud as I exit' ;; Rome & Caesar Augustus one-shot


_a/n: i started writing this _AGES _ago, and had finished all but the last to segments. finished them up, did some beta-ing, whatnotwhatnot. what can i say? i had wanted to do a fic on rome, and i had just read something pertaining to octavian/caesar/augustus (multiple personality disorder, anyone?) and this was conceived. and born, like, seven months later._

_lots of latin and roman customs used; the glossary would be too long, so just pm me if you're curious/want to know anything. i certainly don't bite! (and may provide a better explanation that google translate)_

_octavian-emperor guy loved theatre (.disorder.) so i thought it would be nice to title it _comme ca _(with the cedille) and divide this long fic like a play. _

_oh yeah, this is perhaps the longest piece i've ever written AND finished, so a round of applause for me? :)_

_and, as _my _last words, i'd like to ask one thing: **what did you think of the final part?** i've never written a death before, and i think my writing fell apart at that point._

_(please excuse all errors. they are **typos; **i am only one person with plenty of things to do, i'll fix them in the future, i promise)_

* * *

><p><strong>all the world's a stage<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Final Act, Scene I<em>

Livia wrings her thin, pale hands as she scrutinises her oval face in worry. She's never seen Augustus like this, and it worries her. What if something is wrong with him? She is well aware that Caesar is no longer young, and what if he decides that Tiberius isn't the proper heir? _Haud, _she assures herself, Tiberius is _her _son and she's seen to it that he is fit for the title.

"Augustus," she begins, taking a step closer to her husband, but says no more. When one doesn't know what to say, it is best to not say it, she knows this well.

The old, once blond, man sits down dramatically and looks up at this tiny, plain woman. "Livia," he says, his voice firm and commanding, and Livia nods, knowing that what he is about to say is important, "I need you to do me a…a favour," he adds, gaining confidence the more words he speaks.

Quickly, Livia reaches for the paper she keeps to write notes, and grabs a stylus to record every word that will leave his mouth.

"Non," Augustus says sharply, placing his hand atop of hers. "This is a favour that must remain in between the both us. No one must not—cannot—know." At that, he smiles, a bland, nonchalant smile. As always, even at his age, Augustus' eyes are the only source of his true feelings, and, as always, Livia cannot read their meaning.

"Not even Rome?" she inquires meekly, shoving her writing utensils to where they won't be seen so that Augustus can, hopefully, forget that she ever took them out. After all, she is his wife, failures and faults are a very grave thing indeed.

"De quo tu dicto_?_" Augustus counters, "Senatus Populusque Romanus or—"

Livia, knowing what he means, interjects, "Both, I suppose. But I had originally meant the latter."

Augustus nods, deep in thought, and once again turns his focus to his wife that is more of a secretary, "Then yes. I _have _to tell him everything, it's my duty as Caesar. And as for the people, they shall know some things, but don't worry, I'll handle that," he finishes with a wave of his hand.

Ashamed of her lack of reason in figuring the answer, Livia bows her head, the plait of brown-white hair tumbling behind her skinny, bent back, "Of course. But, what _is _this favour that only you, and I, and Romulus must know?"

A grin growing on his wrinkled face, Augustus replies, "Ah, yes, the favour. It is indeed a brilliant one." At that, Livia frowns, wondering how a favour can be brilliant, but she does not argue. "Livia, I am old now, and soon I shall die. Don't act like that, you know it is true! Anyway, as I was saying, you are well aware of how I have orchestrated everything in my life," Livia nods timidly, wondering if Augustus is alright—but no, she can't think, or even begin to think, that, "So, I have decided that I shall do so too with my death. And Livia, I want you, _you_," he repeats for emphasis, even though he knows that Livia is entranced, "to do the job." Augustus beams, feeling as successful as a young man who has given the world's most brilliant, and moving, and _perfect_ speech to the Senate.

However, Livia pales, which looks quite sickly for a person who naturally has a wan skin colour. "Caesar, that is…that's _murder! _I can't do that!" she protests, her voice rising in pitch.

With a wave of his hand, Augustus silences the woman, "It is not murder if I ask it of you. And no one will find out. Trust me. I said I would handle the Senate, and being a man of my word, I shall. You have nothing to worry about. _Nihil_," he reassures Livia, a small smile on his face which he knows will give her confidence.

Livia also smiles in acknowledgement, but her smile is twisted and tainted and falters ever so slightly.

;;

_Final Act, Scene II_

Rome hums to himself the tune of a song, a lewd one that makes him laugh and recall the first time he heard two plebeian boys singing it as they passed the streets, as he polishes his armour with a cloth until it will shine to perfection. He is too preoccupied with himself to notice his boss slip into the room and stare at him with that well-known, perhaps even notorious, lackadaisical glance.

After five minutes of lyrics that tell of _lupae _and actresses, Augustus speaks, "How fascinating it is to hear of what good Roman citizens spend their time doing."

Rome laughs, "Those plebs are quite interesting," he retorts. "Anyway, good to see you, Boss."

"And why are you so interested in the plebs?" Augustus says, wondering why Rome suddenly changed the subject.

"Oh, you know, I think I should be asking that of you, Caesar," Rome scoffs, "I mean, _everyone _knows that the only reason you act so humble is for the plebs, so you'll get their support and all that."

If Caesar were any less civilised, he would have rolled his eyes, but instead he just snaps, "There are gods out there."

"Yes," Rome adds, "and they care _so _deeply about your humility. Now, what's wrong?"

Caesar silently appreciates Rome's ability to quickly establish what is worthy of speaking about, and tells him what he had just told Livia.

"Oh, sweet Jupiter," Rome laughs unsteadily, "Aren't you hilarious? I swear, you should've been a comedi—"

Augustus cuts him off, his facial expression ever stoic, "Romulus," he says, using the code name the ruling family has always used to refer to Rome without letting the plebeians - or anyone, really - know whom they are talking about, "I jest not. I will die soon, and why not have it done my way? That way, I'll be _sure_, completely and accurately sure, that nothing, _nihil_, will go wrong."

Rome nods, his tresses of auburn hair bouncing up and down (oh, how that irks Caesar!), as if deep in thought, but the two men know much better than to actually believe that _the _Roman Empire is actually thinking about _politics_.

"But then, Boss, if you're so close to your death, how do you know that you won't drop dead - the gods forbid -," he adds with too-sweet mockery, "right now?"

Augustus conceals a glare, and refuses to admit that he isn't, so instead, he replies, "Tiberius has been raised properly to know how to act. And, I'll also leave very specific notes for everyone on what to do. So you have no worries, and can just sit back and sing dirty songs to yourself."

Rome shrugs, his armour grazing his cheek, and sits down. "Whatever," he retorts with the slightest tinge of attitude, "I just hope this Tiberius will let me fight - and win! - lots of battles and wars so I can take their women." He laughs softly, then turns serious as Caesar mutters something about _Pax Romana_.

;;

_Final Act, Scene III_

Augustus scribbles at the speed of light precise notes for Tiberius, on everything he should do, including the new Caesar's first speech to Senate, just to be sure that he won't falter. He has already completed his notes for Livia, and his speech for the Senate.

Once he is done he rereads his speech for Senate, fixing every minor detail - after all, Caesar must be meticulous in order to see that everything runs smoothly - and smiles as he adds his final words. He is sure, so very sure, that these words will be remembered for an eternity and the following millennia.

As he vigilantly organises his papers, he snaps for his guards to announce to the Senate that he shall be holding a speech in their presence tomorrow morning.

He just hopes that he can survive the night.

;;

_Final Act, Scene IV_

Livia frantically paces around her room, fretting over the fact - which will soon be reality - that she will kill Caesar. It worries and frightens her and she feels like collapsing into a messy pile on the floor, but she doesn't because Caesar does not expect it of her.

"Eudiviges!" she snaps, calling her flaxen-haired German slave. The young girl quickly rushes in, which gives Livia a sense of distaste, seeing such a young and pretty girl, since a slave, a _worthless, stupid _slave, is everything that Livia is not.

"Yes, Domina?" the girls asks meekly, staring at Livia with those wide, timid chartreuse orbs.

"You will have to do something for me, something you must get without _anyone _knowing, you understand, yes?, _no one _must know."

Eudiviges nods as Livia tilts her head up with those wrinkled hands on the German's small chin, and in spite of the fear that practically streams down her face, Eudiviges remains still.

"You will go out in town, and buy a poison. One that kills slowly, you know how to find those, I suppose, and if not, I guess you shall learn. You will be accompanied by a guard. You must not tell him, nor anyone else, of what you have. You come back here, and give it to me, understand? Not a word to anyone, remember that."

Eudiviges nods, she has served Livia for a while and vows to not disappoint her _domina_. Caesar's wife nods, seemingly content with this pledge, but calls a young guard over. She whispers to him to follow her, and make sure that she speaks to no one, as well as not ask what he bought.

"And once she's done, she'll return to me. Then, when I send her away, I want you to kill her. I don't care how you do it, but do it well, with no signs left, or you'll be dead as well."

The young blonde nods curtly, with a "Of course, Domina," and the odd pair - guard and slave girl - are off.

;;

_Final Act, Scene V_

Rome balances his dinner on one hand as he walks towards Germania, who is silently sitting doing what?—Rome doesn't know. Or care, either.

The tanned nation plops down next to his faired skin ex-friend (or something like that. Rome is unsure of their relationship, but he considers Germania a friend since he is the only nation that will actually _listen _to him).

"_Salve_, buddy ol' pal," Rome greets cheerily, taking an exaggerated bite of his _ofella, _tasting delicious melted cheese in his mouth. As usual, Germania remains silent, and the only sign he gives that shows he is listening is a slight shrug.

Rome's cup of wine is half empty when he realises that he should offer Germania some food. So, being the mighty _Imperium Romanum _he is, Rome holds an _ofella _to Germania's face, the smell of hot food - dough and cheese, to be exact - in his face. The long haired blond pushes back the _ofella _in disgust. In truth, he has no idea what it is, but something in the back of his mind tells him it is bad.

"_Nein, danke_," he says in a low voice that even Rome - who is seated right besides him - can barely hear.

Rome gasps loudly and quickly turns to gape at his friend. "_Quid? Sed…sed quomodo_? How could you _not _want _ofellae? _It's, like, the best thing since the founding of Rome!" he stammers, trying to form coherent sentences.

Germania, however, does not share in his appal, and simply shrugs off his exclamations like he does to most of Rome's rants. He has learnt from experience—the world's best teacher—that if he ignores Rome's rants, Rome will eventually give up and switch to another subject.

True to Germania's belief, Rome audibly sighs and begins to talk of this enticing, classy woman he ran across in Sicily while munching on his exquisite _ofella_.

By the time five minutes have passed, Germania turns to Rome and looks him steadily in the eye. "Rome, don't you have anything other to talk about, such as politics?" he inquires. He is expecting Rome to be appalled once again, but instead, Rome looks away and bites his lip.

"Dinner's over," he says sharply, and briskly leaves a confused Germania.

;;

_Final Act, Scene VI_

Augustus walks out of the Senate with a confident air, one that should not belong to a man just about to face his death. He comes face to face with Rome, who is practically squirting eagerness.

"How'd it go? I would've attended, but meetings are too boring and the Senate's boring and—" Rome begins.

Augustus sighs, "—and you'd rather be flirting with pretty women. Yes, I know. As to answer your question, rather successful. Care in hearing my last words?" he asks.

Rome puffs, not truly interested, but agrees to it anyway, "Yeah, yeah. 'I shall miss you all and all that sappy stuff."

"No. Actually, I think you'd like hearing this," Augustus replies, clearing his voice, "Keep this for the records: 'Behold, I found Rome of clay, and leave her to you of marble.'" Augustus beams, and turns to face the taller man.

"Seriously?" Rome asks, "Why'd you refer to me as a girl?"

"Oh, would you!"

"Though it's not bad. I like being made of marble," Rome pokes his biceps for a supposed "manly" effect, "And, you have t'admit, you can't get closer to marble than this!"

Augustus sighs, closing those grey orbs of his, and genuinely smirks, "You know, Romulus," he says truthfully, "I will miss working with you."

Rome nods in agreement, and softly clamps his hand on his boss's shoulder, "Me too, Boss. Me too."

;;

_Final Act, Scene VII_

Livia digs her weak nails into the palms on her nimble hands, on the verge of hysteria and tears and madness. To be frank, she doesn't even know _why _she panics. It's Caesar's command, so there was nothing wrong. And, before being a woman, she is a wife—_Caesar's _wife—and no emotions or panic should be shown by her.

Yet, why does she do it? Why is she afraid? That worthless slave is dead, and she's only doing what she's been told, like she's done thousands of times. That's all she has done in her petty life, obey commands.

Why should one command frighten her _now_, when she is an old, experienced woman?

Somewhere, deep down, she knows _why. _Her reason is because she has never killed a person before. Much less her husband, much less the ruler of her country.

Livia bows her head and mutters a quick prayer to Juno, the patron goddess of all women that are wives of powerful men, and makes her way to the plate that she _knows _will be given to Caesar, and dumps all the contents in the tiny bottle into his wine.

;;

_Final Act, Final Scene_

Augustus expertly picks up his glass of wine, and shoots a look at Livia, who sits on the same couch as him. Mortified by her actions, Livia humbly bows her head, pretending to eat some bread. She glances over to the corner of the room, where Rome stands unnoticed, waiting for his cue.

Augustus quickly begins to make rabid, practised motions, as if he's choking, and Livia actually worries, even though she knows that the potion is slow acting and nothing is happening to Caesar. Yet.

On cue, Rome, wearing a neat, clean toga arrives, introducing himself as a doctor, pushing past hordes of worried nobles, and skilfully carries Caesar away, leaving a crowd of gasping patricians behind.

.

Rome carefully lays down his boss on a mattress, who has stopped faking. "You okay, boss?" he asks worried, but Augustus' answer is cut off by a cry of "_Octavian!" _as Livia, with all her age and fatigue, flings herself atop her husbands' chest and weeps. This makes Rome flinch, he can go through many battles and see many deaths, but he can't stand to see women cry. Softly, he places a strong hand on her shoulder, the closest he can come to being comforting.

(perhaps his grandson, however, may beg to differ)

"Livia," he says, "It _was _bound to happen sometime."

She wipes back tears, and wonders why she cries_. Shouldn't she be happy_? The old woman nods, and mumbles a low "I know".

Octavian cranes his neck forward, and says with the air of a spoilt boy, "I'm _dying. _Shouldn't you all be paying attention to me?"

At those words, Rome laughs, because it's absolutely hilarious how Octavian—_fucking _Octavian—who's serious and formal, because that's how all Caesars should be, is acting like a little boy.

"I wonder," he contemplates, "if when you die you actually get younger?"

Octavian pouts and Livia raises an eyebrow, and Rome knows that now is not the time for his immaturity.

"Well then, if you're dying, shouldn't you be saying your last words? Make it something _epic, _so Germania will think I'm cool."

Octavian sighs, "I believe we should wait to the very end, for more effect." At that, Rome stamps his foot and groans, anxiety willing this boring death to happen quickly.

Livia, who epotimises the Roman view of a woman, flung herself at her husband, crying out, "No! Octavian, my dearest husband, I have been a good wife, an obedient wife to you, I—." She stops abruptly, forgetting what she was talking about, and resorts to silently weeping.

"Are you dead yet? Are you dead yet? Are you— " Rome chants, his curl swaying back and forth in rhythm with his voice.

"That won't speed up anything!" Livia snaps, her face red with fury and wet with tears. She looks to Octavian for support, who instead, falls into a fit of seizure. Livia closes her eyes, and Rome muses aloud, "Couldn't you have chosen a more respectable death, Boss?"

"Shut your ignorant mouth! _He's dying— _show some respect, you ignoramus!" Livia shrieks, flinging herself at the armoured nation.

Rome freezes, and he too, feels afraid.

Then, all of a sudden, Octavian stops, and bursts into laughter, some novel for him. "Why, you should have seen yourselves! Am I that great an actor?" he asked rhetorically. "Splendid! But really, what part of slow-acting poisons do you two not understand?"

Rome burst into merry, jovial laughter at the joke; however Livia, enraged beyond sanity, throws herself on the floor, yelling at both of the men.

"Y'know, Boss, I think _she's _the one who's dying," Rome says philosophically.

Octavian recalls the nation's past words on rejuvenation before death, and nods, "Yes, she is certainly showing some symptoms."

"Ah," Rome wipes his eyes, "Great times, great times. The people will miss you, I know I certainly will. Eh?" He turns to face his boss, but is met with silence.

"Boss?"

Octavian blinks, and it all enfolds quickly afterwards. The emperor's hand reaches out and grips Rome's wrist, tightening and squeezing, tightening and squeezing. He tries to shrug it off, not because of the pain, but the eerie, foreboding feel.

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're a wonderful actor. Now stop. Really."

Livia's head darts up, and her lips turn into a scowl. "Please…this is pointless, Octavian. This is— ." She is silenced by Rome's eyes, which let her know that things are not going well.

Octavian attempts to sit up, fails, and squeezes his grip on Rome. "I…I…

"I just need to know…

"Have I played my part well?"

Rome raises an eyebrow; these do not sound like the epic words he sees himself recounting to Germania.

"Certainly, Boss. You actually had us thinking, and _really_ thinking— ow!" He lets out a cry, and feels a part of him go numb, something that he had never before experienced.

Octavian's words are pronounced firmly. They are not the words Rome expected, but poignant, in a sense.

"Then applaud as I exit."

**.exitus**


End file.
